The Floating Bed of Lust
by thisisajoke
Summary: Of space, a floating bed and two men... Benedict Cumberbatch, you clearly asked for it.


_Disclaimer: We own nothing at all, sadly. If you found this by googling your name, please leave now. You're not Pete Wentz. Nice chins, though. btw, hello Benedict. I should probably add that I was in a somewhat inebriated state when I wrote this. Please excuse any grammatical errors, English is not my native language. My friend, who helped creating this, was on painkillers. So yeah._

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Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away... there was a bed sailing in space. But it was not just the bed. There were two men lying on top of it, handcuffed to one another, clinging, in fact, to each other, holding on for dear life.

"John, please, kiss me. I need your comfort now. For I know that we will forever be floating in space, never to return to the earth."

"But- Sher-," John replied, stifled, however, by Sherlock's lips pressing against his own. Sherlock's tongue slowly licked along John's upper lip. John opened his mouth, deepening the kiss.

Sherlock moaned, excited at the opportunity to explore John's mouth. He let the tip of his tongue run over John's teeth. John, in turn, took the opportunity to turn Sherlock over, now lying on top of him.

"I've always had the feeling that you were gonna be on top, darling," whispered the consulting detective quietly.

John smiled at this. He had never managed to surprise Sherlock before. Apart from that one time, of course, when he declined Mycroft's offer to spy on him and proved himself worthy of Sherlock's love.

"Ever since, John, I've wanted to be with you," Sherlock assured John.

"Sherlock, just in case you haven't noticed. We are not at 221B Baker Street. We are, in fact, in space. Floating. On your bed. And there's oxygen. This time you and your drugs experiments have gone too far!"

Sherlock shushed him and put a finger to his lips.

"Why not enjoy it? Besides, nobody has to know about our little... liaison. Care to move on, now?," he said, urging John to continue his actions.

"I've always thought you didn't care much about... unimportant things, such as sex. What happened to 'married to my work'?"

"Well, I'm still going to be a virgin in real life, am I not? This is not real, John. Or have you already forgotten," he retorted.

"Forgotten what?", he asked, looking quizzically.

"Forget it. Let's move on now, shall we?", Sherlock went on. "Let us now have sex. I've always wondered whether all the talk and fascination regarding this activity could live up to actually doing it."

John, who had always wondered what Sherlock's dick might look like, stopped thinking and just went with it. "Believe me, it's gonna be far better than that," replied John, smiling wryly.

"And now, let me take off your trousers," he whispered, not able to hide his arousal any longer.

But before John could get his hands on Sherlock's dick, he felt something poke him hard into his thigh.

"Come on, now. I want you. Inside of me," Sherlock moaned.

"John? John!" The poking just wouldn't let up. He swatted at the annoying feeling against his thigh. "John!"

"How about you hold still for the moment? I can't possibly manoeuvre my hard-on into you."

"John!" The voice was familiar, it wasn't Sherlock's, though.

"John, you need to open your eyes," it echoed again. "You are safe now, both of you...", the voice sounded a lot firmer this time.

Slowly opening his eyes, John took in the smell of disinfectant. 'So this is what space smells like, how weird.' But there was bright light, so bright, in fact, that he shut his eyes again.

"Where am I?", he inquired.

"At St Bartholomew's, John. And so is he. He's still fast asleep, though," replied the man.

John could now match the voice. It was Mycroft's, Sherlock's brother.

"What... what happened? We were so close," he stammered.

"Close to killing you, he was. I've always told him not to experiment about in his flat. He could have killed you, you know. Or are you, by chance, referring to something else?", Mycroft said, smiling wryly, indicating with his umbrella towards his private parts.

That was too much. It now dawned on him that it had all been a mere dream. Nothing more. He slowly tilted his head to the side, now watching Sherlock closely. He had a few bruises in his face. And he snored. And he had a boner.

Smiling, John turned away again. Now inspecting the ceiling attentively, he felt a warm feeling in his stomach. 'One of these days, Sherlock, I'll get you.'

Sherlock, in the meantime, had the best time of his life, sailing on with John making sweet love to him in outer space.

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**THE END**


End file.
